


To The Hilt

by RichmanBachard



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Begging, Come Swallowing, Cunnilingus, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, F/M, Spitroasting, Teasing, The hilt will never be the same, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, blowjob, slight orgasm denial, sword play, sword sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-06 01:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichmanBachard/pseuds/RichmanBachard
Summary: Vergil partakes in the sweetest of deserts. Commission for coraltorches.





	To The Hilt

It was said that the night belonged to the demons. To the dark and depraved. To many, the very thought of such beasts was terrifying to consider. Monsters dwelling in the dark, hungry for something. What that something was, would vary, from person to person. One could ponder, and fear, the thought - should they cross paths with a monster, a demon.

A select few pondered further, entertained a certain kind of idea many would scoff at.

It was said that the night belonged to demons. 

For Anthousa, it was a demon who belonged to her.

And she, him.

_Him. _She had fancied Vergil something fierce, that much was painfully clear. These days, he was more inclined to fancy others as well. Lucky her. To love Vergil was to love two worlds at once. It wasn’t always easy, but it was always, always, worthwhile.

The cherry atop her demonic sundae? He knew how to _fuck._

One night, one like any other, it belonged to a demon and his lover. His head, buried between her legs. Her hands, gripping the locks of his lush, ashen hair. His tongue traced the folds of her labia with careful precision, yet with no less intense, ravenous hunger. Her sweet nectar a delectable treat, one of many. A personal failing of his always had been an affinity for sweets, no matter how savory. Anthousa, in kind, proved the most difficult sweet to beat. He rarely minded. It was hard to knock it when his lips paid its respects to her soft, savory sex. A puffy mound to give ample amounts of reverence to. His skilled tongue swiping, curling, and twisting in and around her in all the ways she preferred most. A smile creased her lips, her man tending to the desperate ache of her succulent flesh. He was good, very good.

Stylish, even when wracked with his own unbridled sense of lust.

And yet, in that wealth of pleasure, Anthousa could feel that _something_ was off. It wasn’t his skill- no, not that, nor was it his approach. No. She found it to be.. something else. In spite of his hunger, the son of Sparda was being _selective_ \- far more than normal. He was toying with her, drawing out any chance of an impending orgasm. Oh, was it impending.

_Damn him. _

Clad in nothing but a luxurious gown, marked by its weaving floral patterns on either side, Anthousa remained sprawled across the bed. Her lithe figure a canvas with which he derived many a pleasure from. To draw out an orgasm, was mischievous. Sure. To deny such a canvas the orgasm it sorely desired, needed, was cruel. Very much so.

Even when he moved, wiping at his chin, she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. 

Having repositioned, his thumb traced one of the floral patterns. Moving up, up, _up _until his nimble fingers moved. Her nerves were caught in a twist after all the attention paid to her needs. She tightened with his every, deliberate move. Clenched. His hand - clothed in its rugged, worn glove - trailed over her neck, drawing a hitch in her throat. “P-Please..” she mewled, her heart racing with every choked breath. “_Please_.”

His eyes narrowed into a squint despite the upturned curl of his lip. He towered over her, leaning so close his breath tickled her the softness of her ear. A weakness. One he took full advantage of. _Damn him_. “Please.. what?” His ask was simple, and direct. Her thighs rubbed together, squeezing hard, attempting to push herself closer to the edge she was thirsting for. His ever so nimble fingers continued their sweep; tracing the line of her jaw, cupping her rose-tinted cheek. He admired the heart-shaped freckles underneath her light-brown eyes. “Speak, my darling,” he spoke in earnest, despite his prior display of playful cruelty. His voice a pleasurable chill. “How pained you must be.. pained by the anguish of desire, feeding your every whim.” With every word, his earnestness weaved itself into something more - mischief, cruelty, hunger. His other hand, par the course, felt a desire of its own - to trail along her lithe form, down its hourglass canvas to ease ever closer towards her most delicate of places. She held her breath, hoping for the best. Surely, he would relent and give her what she wanted. She knew better, but, desperate times..

His fingers danced along her navel, playfully, knowing full-well. Then, his voice sharpened into a growl, which shook her to her core. “_Speak_.” 

The noise Anthousa let slip from the confines of her throat was supposed to be a full, hearty moan, music to Vergil’s ears - but alas, instead it spilled out of her as a loud, desperate whine, unbecoming of her. With her body slowly devolving into a quivering mass of flesh, she gazed into his eyes, shivering, a nimble hand of hers moving to cup his own, chiseled cheek. “Please, my love.. tear.. tear into me, make me weep at the sound of your name, fuck me.. fuck me like you mean it-“ In that moment she cut herself off with a sharp gasp, as her lovers fingers slid downward to toy with the lips of her pussy. In place of words came soft whimpers as Vergil hissed with satisfaction. His middle and forefinger slid along her slit, already puffy and dripping wet, until they parted her flower to plunge inside. He cooed. She remained absolutely soaked, her cunt yielding to his every touch, the nectar of her pleasure abundant and unending. He hummed in delight at that. Such a mess, all for him.

“Filthy girl,” he said, his lips just shy of her ear. “So depraved.”

“Yes..” she admitted. “Yes.. so filthy, so.. eugh- oh, oh.. more. Please, more.”

His fingers curled upward, stroking lightly after every word. “Your pussy belongs to me, and it just cannot do without.. a shame.” Her responses were nothing but half-hearted cries, paling in comparison to his sharp retorts. Again, a need for more. Who was he to deny her any longer? He would give in, eventually. He would have to. Vergil was nothing if not cordial and precise, even under the pretense of something so hotly carnal; the pleasures of the flesh. Their lips met, then, crashing together in a duel of tongues. Deep, rough, passionate kisses as his fingers explored her further. Tasting herself upon his lips only adding to her delight. “Filthy fucking harlot,” he managed between kisses, between every brief intake of air. 

“I am,” she admitted desperately as his motions grew more aggressive, out of breaths yet still hungry for more. “I am, darling, I am..” A devilish grin creased her lips, then. “And you love it-“

He removed himself from the touch of her kisses, his fingering of her only intensifying in the absence of that. “Show me, then,” he commanded, a hitch in his throat, “show me how much you need it, how filthy you truly are.”

“Let me cum first,” she pleaded, her chest heaving with every word, her chest flushed pink as her orgasm was beginning to take hold. “Please - once, just once - please - let me.. I- I am so- I am so.. close-“

Much to her chagrin, Vergil removed his fingers from her sex, drawing a disappointed whine from her form. “Foolish girl.” He sat upon the bed’s edge, his taut ass, trapped beneath the confines of his tight, fit trousers, was seated comfortably. A sight she beheld dearly, even as his harsh words spilled forth. “Did I not make myself clear? Show me what you are-“

In seconds, Anthousa ripped herself from the bed to his delight, sliding off to its edge heatedly. She expelled a growl of her own as her feet touched the floor. Her eyes - glossed over with hunger and desperation - gazed into his own, then moved, dancing around the room. Then, her eyes found it - and there it was. In the corner stood the Yamato, Vergil’s deadly piece of weaponry entrusted to him long ago. Apart from its immaculate design, it remained sheathed, laying comfortably against the wall. Every logical thought in her mind was appropriately drenched in a sea of lust now. Something hard, something phallic. Vergil smirked, his eyes fixed upon everything hers had been. With an inkling of an idea, straight from his own sense of lust, he leaned over to whisper something into her ear. A suggestion? A command. What it was would have normally made Anthousa gasp, mocking a faint sense of shock in protest, but there was no shock to be had now. No shame. Her cheeks may have flushed beet-red, but her lust-addled mind and desire to cum continued to drive every inhibition, every move. 

She removed herself from the bed fully, doing away with her gown and casting it aside, putting emphasis upon the sway of her hips as she walked. Like a moth to the flame, he eagerly watched her with intrigue, awaiting her next move, drinking in her captivating figure. Muffling a small moan of her own, she reached for the Yamato and then turned to face him. He arched a curious, expectant brow. She neared, pressing a kiss to his lips, then stepped back to position herself correctly. The hardness in his trousers tightened as she held the sword in place, for what was about to take place. The Yamato’s hilt rubbed against her entrance lightly, Anthousa proceeding with care. Dripping wet as she was, it didn’t take long for the beginning portions of the bottom half to part her lips and slip inside. Her frustrated, eager, delicious moans filled the air as she lowered herself further onto the hilt, the design of the grip’s every bump and ridge filling and rubbing against her as she began to fuck herself upon it. If he were to deny her release, deny her a cock to ring pleasure from, damn him. She was resourceful, she found the next best thing. Putting herself into a halfway decent rhythm, she lightly bounced upon it, drawing out the visage. For Vergil, he soaked it all in, reveled in the sight of her state. Having stopped so low, or.. perhaps so high. 

“Filthy girl, fucking yourself as you are. So desperate..”

She bit her lip, maintaining eye contact all the way until he broke sight first. Vergil’s hands moved, which she watched intently, as he hastily undid his belt in order to peel his trousers down. Into Anthousa’s view soon came his cock, a weapon in its own right, at full mast. She bit her lip, despite her previous act of rebellion, mild as it was. He gazed into her eyes. “Worship it,” he ordered. And, in the end, she had to - for she could not help herself. And so she leaned forward as she continued to steadily buck against the Yamato’s bottom half. His hand clutched at the back of her hair, pulling it into a grip as her hot breath tickled the head of his cock. With another hiss, he quickly shoved her forward to take it into her mouth.

She did so willingly, she would have with or without his assistance. But with the advent of his forceful display, it egged her on further, her pussy soaking the confines of the hilt as she sucked his cock down with increased fervor. Stuck between a sword and a hard place, she bounced from one ounce of pleasure to the other. “There you go,” Vergil cooed, equally aroused and amused by her naughty display. She proved herself on impressing him. “Take it all.. you filthy, mewling quim.” His words made her cheeks flush red with embarrassment once more. Even so, it was nothing but the truth. Depraved, disgusting. It was a part of her, something she could relish in when the time was right. For the right person. In Vergil, everything of hers had come undone, absolving her of any shame, giving way to something more.

Something raw, and needy.

His cock poked and prodded at the back of her throat as she sucked him down. Ample amounts of precum wetting her taste, his cock desired everything her mouth had to offer. He leaned his head back with a satisfied moan as his hand remained firmly upon the back of her head, slowly pushing and pulling up and down, up and down - luscious locks of hair caught in his vice-like grip. Seeing him upon every upstroke, her one and only in such a pleased state, it had done much to warm her. A fire, lit in her core, in her loins, pushing her closer towards the end she so hotly craved. She needed it, like a drug - an itch needing to be scratched. 

Luckily, it was not long before Anthousa finally came - and when she did, it was glorious. She drenched the hilt of his blade as she cried out in pleasure, leaving it sticky with ounces of her savory cream. Moans, muffled by the mouthful of cock as they were, rang to him as guttural as they could. “Good girl,” he said, his bare chest heaving with more frequency. The familiar pulsing in her mouth signaled that he, too, was drawing to a close. And so, in a playful turn as his grip began to loosen suddenly, she pulled off of his manhood with a loud pop, a grin adorning her plump - now messy - lips. 

“Something to remember me by,” she said with a tease, in reference to his now cum-covered weaponry. “Now give me your cum.. you filthy fucking _devil_-“ Her tease filled him with a mixture of delight and force, his features wearing a look of determination.

With a powerful grunt, his grip tightened and so her lips slid back over his sensitive crown to take him deeper, deeper. Her mouth formed a perfect seal around his sex, her cheeks hollowing with each thrust. Vergil hissed again, louder and with gusto. The closer he drew to orgasm, the less likely words were something he was willing to give. In place of words came the tiniest of whimpers, instead - a rare sound from a man such as him. Outside of that, nothing. Nothing but the forceful pushing of his movements, the sound of his slow but increasing panting.

In response, Anthousa would fill the gap with her sounds of her own. Hungry, voracious noises as she took him down - messily yet swift, intense but thorough - until, finally, the half-demon reached his own, heavily sought-after peak Vergil grunted as his cum filled her mouth to the brim. She could have taken it all down her throat, but no- no, she desired nothing more than to taste the result of her efforts. Plentiful and worthwhile. 

The son of Sparda breathed a heavy sigh as she popped off of him once more, when his orgasm ebbed, the sword clattering to the floor after she pulled it from her core. She nearly kneeled in front of him, then, opening her mouth to show him just how much she loved him, the devil. She swallowed, making a show of it as she took his seed down in a series of big gulps. 

And then the lovers kissed, trading their tongues once more, Anthousa damn-near pouncing on him for the two to crash upon the bed. In the midst of their rough, passionate kissing she felt the hardness of his sex again. Unabated. As erect as when the night began. She smiled into the kiss. Perks of such a lineage. And, before he threw her off of him, her fingers managed to briefly run through his ashen hair, doing some more pulling of her own.

On the bed, he commanded her to get on all-fours. Again, she did so willingly, primed for more. Same as him. 

When he entered her, everything else had gone completely dark. He filled her, so fully and completely, that her mind went blank. Nothing but sex. Nothing but his cock, ruining her in the best possible way. With all the world a blur, Anthousa desired nothing more. The basest of needs, overriding everything else. Her hands spread out amongst the satin-covered bed, desperate in her motions. She clutched - at something, anything. The pillows, the bedsheets, the headboard. Something to hold on to as he fucked into her good and proper. She begged for more, pleaded for him to wreck her pussy until she could take no more.

Anthousa could take much, much more.

Rutting into her, par the course a hand of his gripped at the back of her head. Pulling her head back, it only made him fuck into her harder, with greater enthusiasm. The soft clapping of flesh filling the room amidst her desperate pleas and guttural moans. 

It went like this, most nights. A lesson to be learned, a body to be worshipped - whether it be his or hers. It mattered not. What did was them, connected in that moment. Pushing deeply into her, his other hand clutched at the curve of her hip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, kneading it. His cock - even after a prior release - remained so incredibly hard. Twitching with need, spearing her soft, aching folds like a knife through butter. She mewled softly, pushing back against each and every thrust in order to meet him halfway. 

“You’re mine,” Vergil stated, which made her heart flutter. “A dirty, depraved harlot.. who is all mine. Never forget, my love - never forget how I make you feel, how this dick makes you feel. Never.”

She could do nothing but agree, wholeheartedly. Her heart belonged to him, her body belonged to him. He was the night, and she was his sun. They belonged to each other, having woven themselves into a powerful, powerful bond.

Power..

In the end, true power was found in mustering a certain kind of strength: the strength to continue on, to protect others, to feel compassion. Vergil knew that now, learned that, accepted it.

For Anthousa, true power was found in begging to be bred. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow [@RichmanBachard](https://twitter.com/RichmanBachard) and [@RichmanSFW](https://twitter.com/RichmanSFW) to keep up with my stories, my commission info, and my insanity.


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